I Saw You First
by Thaddeus MacChuzzlewit
Summary: Their first meeting didn't last more than ten minutes in total. He never even knew she was there. But Hetty saw something special. She was going to remember that scruffy blond cop with the earnest eyes.


**I Saw You First**

It wasn't really an NCIS investigation. Just some top navy official applying pressure because his son was a suspect in a LAPD murder investigation. One look at the boy's profile told Hetty that he didn't do it, but you could never have too many people in high places owing you a favour.

So she was hovering in the back of the investigation, and dropped by the station when the boy was brought in for questioning, just to make her presence known to the Police Chief. If the lead detectives somehow got the idea that she was just a representative from the California Bureau of Health & Work Conditions, it was beyond Hetty's reasoning why they would jump to such conclusions.

With her visitor's badge she hovered in the back of the viewing room, completely ignored as she watched their attempts at an interrogation.

Detective Wilkins slammed his hands down on windowsill and stared at the young man on the other side of the glass. "I don't care if he didn't kill the man! He's a witness and I want to know what he saw!"

The other two men in the room rolled their eyes. "Fine. We'll get him to talk. The guy's just clammed up because he's intimidated."

The greying leader of their team, and a man who Hetty was reluctantly discovering was not likely to take over her responsibility of ensuring justice in this case, was Lead Detective Bowie. He rubbed at his jaw, and then stepped back from the glass, shrugging in a matter that Hetty expected was a regular occurrence. "Well then, somebody go get Scruffy."

"What?" Detective Wilkins balked. "You're not bringing in the kid on my case."

Hetty frowned and disapproved of whoever was letting this Detective Wilkins get away with such an attitude on a case that hadn't even been very difficult so far.

The rookie of the three cops laughed, and then left to find Scruffy anyways. Apparently protest was to be expected and ignored.

Detective Bowie looked at his co-worker and sighed. "Just be glad I said it for you this time."

"Whatever."

Bowie snorted, "You're just miffed 'cause he was the one that thought of checking out the meter maid."

"My work station is not a water cooler. If people kept their mouths shut, we could each work on our own cases and stop playing pass-the-case-along."

"Wilkins. You got to learn not to look a gift horse in the mouth. If it works and he's not even going to ask for credit, why not take advantage of it?"

Wilkins opened his mouth, readying an onslaught of reasons why not, but he was interrupted by a soft click which drew their attention to the room on the other side of the glass. A young man had just entered the interrogation room, and as he shut the door softly behind him he took a moment to look around.

Hetty took the same moment to look at him.

'Scruffy' might not have been a kind nickname, but it was apt. He wore beige slacks and a button-up shirt, but no one could have mistaken his outfit for office wear. His shirt was an un-tucked mess of bright blue checkers, with one too many buttons undone to hide the white shirt underneath. Its long sleeves were in a ridiculously wrinkled state, soon explained as the police officer shoved them up to his elbows, ignoring their slide back down mere seconds later. Hetty frowned as the young man revealed a second nervous habit in as many minutes, and began to run his fingers through his wavy mess of blond hair.

"Hey!" Scruffy raised a hand in an awkward greeting and loped across the room, stopping at the table in the middle. He set his file down on the table top and smiled across it at the witness. "Hope you don't mind if I sit here. I'm supposed to talk to you about… Uh…"

Pulling out the chair opposite the witness, he dropped down on it, sitting sideways and rummaging through the file. "Okay. I'm supposed to talk to you about a witness statement. Apparently you were down at... Forster, no Forsyth... on the night of the 25th." He looked up for a moment and stared at his watch, a cheap knockoff, Hetty noted. "Was that this month, or last month they're talking about? I thought it was only the 24th."

On the other side of the window, Detective Wilkins groaned. "I thought he'd read the stupid report before he went in there."

Unexpectedly, the witness broke his silence. "It was last month. Today's the 4th."

"Ha!" Scruffy laughed. "My bad, man. Guess I need to get some new batteries for my calendar. It's one of those retro calendar alarm clocks, you know? The ones where the numbers flip over so it has a new time. Like in Groundhog Day?"

The witness shook his head. "Never seen it."

"Seriously? Damn, that makes me feel old. Not that I was alive when it actually came out. Well, maybe I was, but you usually see that movie in reruns instead." Finally returning his attention to the papers in the file, the officer began to lay them out on the table, glancing at each one before he put it in the pile. "Come to think of it, I must have been alive, because my Mom used to wear her hair just like the leading lady. Except she was blond, of course. It was the puffy curls era..."

Checking back in the file for more papers, his blue eyes bounced back and forth between the empty file and the table for a few moments before the witness spoke up.

"Are you missing something?"

Scruffy looked slightly sheepish, and scooted his chair in closer to the table. "I'm not sure. This isn't usually my area of work. I'm not a detective yet, and I'm just supposed to get your statement." He leaned forward, long tanned fingers tapping on the table nervously (third nervous tick, Hetty noted), "I can't really afford to screw this up. It's the whole paper-work that gets me, you know? It's like taxes. You have to dot all your T's and cross your I's if you want it to go through right."

The navy boy laughed. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I tried to use one of those computer programs last year."

"Did it work?"

"Nah, I had to end up calling my Dad for help anyways."

Scruffy grinned and shoved up his sleeves again before leaning on one elbow. "You know what works better than parents? Secretaries: If there's anyone at your work who has a bit of a soft spot for you. Course, a cute secretary would also be enough motivation for me to do taxes on my own."

They both laughed, and then Scruffy blushed. "Man, I've done it again. I was supposed to get this all filled out and typed up in an hour." He dug out a pen and stared at the file blankly. "Can you just fill me in on what you saw, and I can add it to the report?"

The witness reached across the table to pull a picture of security footage towards him. "Sure, dude. What do you need to know?"

Within five minutes they had a full written statement from the witness, an ID of their murderer and a promise for full cooperation from their new key witness. Hetty had to agree that although his method was unconventional, the young officer had gotten a complete statement and agreement from an unresponsive witness in record time.

Slipping into the main office area, Hetty heard voices, and quietly situated herself behind the partition in the waiting area. Generally speaking, it would be assumed the waiting area was empty if no heads appeared above the partition, but Hetty here had an advantage.

"I don't need this, sir. I'm not asking you to make an exception for me, I'm just asking for a bit of lenience."

Hetty recognized the clear male voice and looked over her shoulder through the blinds. The scruffy young officer was following his supervisor across the office with a strong athletic lope. It didn't pass her notice that he had a different air about him now. The laid-back humour of the interrogation room had been replaced by something closer to an informal earnestness. His hands and body were free of nervous ticks, his sleeves were folded up and his shirt smoothed of wrinkles. Where his blue-eyed sun-swept face had bordered on silly before, it now just looked earnest, and very, very young.

"Listen, Scruffy-"

"Deeks." The younger man inserted hopelessly.

"Listen, _Scruffy,_ I don't care if you have good instincts, if you solve cases or have this 'personal thing' for justice. That's great, it's part of what being a cop is all about. But being a cop is also about someone having your back-"

Deeks threw his hands up in the air in frustration. "I _had_ his back!"

"It's about someone having your back, and you watching theirs. Being a cop is about being part of a brotherhood, and if you can't play nice with others, then how are you going to be a cop?"

Hetty watched as the police chief turned on his heels and walked away, leaving Officer Deeks by himself. The young man looked around at the empty office and then walked over to the wall across from her hidden bench. He stood in front of it for a moment, and then jerked forward to smack his head on the wall.

"Argh!" He jumped back and clutched at his forehead. "Not smart, Marty. Owww, that hurts."

Hetty couldn't keep a smile from her lips as she watched him rub his head and whimper pitifully. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. Movies are a load of crock. That wasn't even remotely satisfying."

She stayed to see him return to his desk and soberly bury his face in his hands. He didn't move for a good ten minutes. Then he sat up, shook himself resolutely and booted up his computer to start a solitaire game.

Hetty slipped away.

Marty Deeks. A name she was going remember.


End file.
